


All the Time on Earth

by LouEve_094



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Awkward Tension, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Smut, Everything is supernatural, Friends to Lovers, Gods, Hinata Shouyou & Kageyama Tobio Friendship, Hinata Shoyou is a time traveller, How Do I Tag, I Don't Even Know, I hate history, I was probably on drugs when I wrote this, I'm not even a history buff, Immortality, Kageyama Tobio is an immortal, Kageyama has stopped caring, Kenma is a god – like literally, M/M, Mental Illness, Slow Burn, Supernatural Elements, This will probably end up with a lot of fluff, Time - Freeform, Time Travel, Time can get fucked, Time is a construct and I will EXPLOIT IT, Vampires, Weirdness, this is so weird, tired
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:14:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28298787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LouEve_094/pseuds/LouEve_094
Summary: Their lives were far from normal, far from human – time meant nothing to them, the immortal and the time traveller. Whatever place – whatever year – they were there, for each other. To gossip, to catch up, to be there for the other. And now as the days pass, they still have to make a living, still have to blend in – hide their extraordinary capabilities. Throw in some secrets, benevolent divinity, drugs and some vampires who are definitely not trying to hide it – and its a recipe for disaster, chaos and maybe an opportunity for love.
Relationships: Hinata Shouyou/Kageyama Tobio, Hinata Shouyou/Miya Atsumu, Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru, Kageyama Tobio/Oikawa Tooru, Kozume Kenma/Kuroo Tetsurou, Miya Atsumu & Miya Osamu, Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi, Miya Osamu/Sakusa Kiyoomi, Tsukishima Kei/Yamaguchi Tadashi
Comments: 6
Kudos: 12





	1. One; the number of times Kageyama has tried damper

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know what sort of crack I was on when I wrote this. Also the titles have nothing to do with the chapter, it's just trivia that I made up. 
> 
> Anyway, Merry Christmas all who are reading this today!, and just a general Welcome, to those who aren't!! Please enjoy this spicy little gift – I'm experimenting, so if it gets enough feedback or whatever, if you guys like it – may continue. I'm not sure yet. 
> 
> Well... Bon appetit ~!

Wherever he went, the man followed. Sorry, _whenever_ he went, the man followed. Of course, neither were omnipotent, omnipresent or omniscient – but whatever hole in time the orange haired man fell from, he’d always end up bumping into his black-haired immortal.

At first it was annoying, like a bug you can’t get rid of, a blot on a canvas that wasn’t meant to be there – but couldn’t be covered up, but then as they aged in wisdom and knowledge – for petty things like years held no meaning – it became a comfort. As the landscape changed, from mountain to valley in a blink of an eye, the black-haired immortal would be there to greet him – with the unchanging glare that spoke of coffee getting cold. Because he’d say, huffing, _for a time traveller, you really think you’d never be late_. And as the people he loved slowly suffered through the aching pains of time, ones that he’d never experiences, the orange haired man would still turn up with a grin on his face and some food from a forgotten era. Because he’d say, grinning, _for an immortal you really have a picky palette_.

They’d catch up over a cup of coffee and catch up the events the time traveller missed and the sights the immortal had better make time to see – because there were only a few days left until Atlantis sank, and Cleopatra’s getting old, better pay your dues. Oh yeah, and the Byzantine Empire will fall soon, better move North to escape the carnage. And they’d bitch about their jobs – the ones they could get with their young, unchanging faces, and the immortal would complain about the housing prices and – _just how much of an ask is it really to get one affordable haunted castle that I can inhabit for the next three hundred years._ And the time traveller would complain about the lack of privacy in Greece and – _Yes, I want to eat wine and grapes for weeks on end, but do I have to be half naked doing it?_ The immortal would laugh, and he’d end up laughing too – and then the next hole in the sky would open up and the time travelled would be on his way, taking remnants of the immortal’s cupboard to another version of himself somewhere forward, or backwards in time.

But no matter how much he moved, messed in the swirling eddies of time and the immortal’s mind, the immortal would always remember their last encounter – even if it was in the future. His mind worked in weird and wonderful ways, and he at least, may have been the closest any – well person of his timeless status – came to being omniscient, at least with his memory. At least when it came to encountering the time traveller. Maybe it was because both their bodies and mind worked outside the normal rules of time, but like the water in separate rivers that met in the sea, they always found each other, and they always remembered.

The years meant nothing to them and they dabbled in life the way one would art, sometimes with passion and motivation, sometimes only by external coercion (money), sometimes retreating, not touching the drawing board for months, overloaded with guilt at their timeless nature. And that’s where this story starts, in what we may call the present – for this is not ‘present’ to them, as there is no ‘now’ and ‘before’, no ‘afters’ – only day and night, only era and eons – where we find them dabbling in life again, with passion and motivation.

~

Hinata stood at the edge and peered down. As always it took him a few seconds to adjust to the view of the other side. Today, time appeared to him as a river. It often did, but it sometimes changed. One day he’d stepped into this in-between place and seen it to be a maze of grandfather clocks – and he hadn’t stayed long enough to find out why, dropping down the first hole he saw, too disconcerted to converse with the universe.

But today it was a river. Well, not truly a ‘today’, but for the purposes of reading with ease, as most of you readers will be without the blessings of a benevolent divine being, we will call it a ‘today’. Though in truth, Hinata was in a place without time – one of which he called to no one but himself and the universe that often stopped to chat, _The Time Stop_. It was a play on the _Bus Stop_ one of his favourite pointless inventions – one that was barely used for its intended purpose. And today at the Time Stop, time appeared as river.

From where he stood on banks of stardust – his surroundings were akin to floating amongst the nebulas, he could see the flowing waters of time, strings with little pearls floating gently by in iridescent shades of purple, blue and green. An orange eddy swirled as he dipped his feet in, waiting for a hole to open.

A hundred years ago (again, years are for our comfort, they are pointless to Hinata), when he first stepped on a crack in the sidewalk one morning walking to volleyball practice and fell through the hole only to come out here – a hundred years ago, he was mighty scared. He didn’t like this place, never stayed here long – always wanted to get back to the safety of Earth. Because this place wasn’t Earth. It wasn’t anywhere. Just ‘here’ and ‘now’.

He’d stopped trying to ponder its existence. Why, how – from where.

A hole opened near his foot and he drew his feet from the river with haste. He peered down into it, letting his eyes adjust. It expanded before his vision, and seemed to swallow his view of the The Time Stop, but he saw the galaxies of stardust in his peripheries, so it was okay. He saw flashes of the time, and it seemed modern – he could make out an asphalt road and cherry blossoms softly falling down onto the sidewalk. If he rolled his eyes oh-so-slowly (as to not lose his balance and fall in) he could see more of the surrounds, and in it he could make out a building of the modern era, probably in the Age of External Technology.

“Are you going down there?” A voice sung to him. Someone else had stopped by, a divine being. On the stardust banks of the rivers, that seemed to be made of nothing and everything all at once, he turned to see bare feet– though it was hard to see when they were shifting in and out of his vision.

“Are you going to materialise Kenma?” His voice didn’t have the same ethereal quality, it didn’t sound like it was sung in an empty church hall (he and his black-haired immortal had had quite a fun time one day doing just that), instead like a quiet whisper in the dead of night – but he didn’t mind. It was just the way The Time Stop worked. His body wasn’t made to exist in an in between state.

“I can’t be bothered.”

“Oh, okay. What will you be doing after this event?” Hinata wasn’t disappointed, because he would come here again and Kenma would materialise at some point. And he didn’t speak in terms of ‘today’ nor ‘time’ – merely in the forms of ‘now’ and ‘after’. ‘After this event’ meaning that in the unlikely instance where the divine being would actually go about his business as planned what would happen after the moment that is their conversation, as opposed to the moments that came before.

He felt Kenma’s smile in the way his back warmed and he saw the shadows shift on his arms.

“I’ll be stringing worlds on a string and making daisy chains with them. We have an excess of them, so I’m thinking of messing around.”

“Ever the benevolent being, Kenma. Will you make them game worlds?”

“You know me too well, Hinata. Will you stay and watched the timelines a bit longer? Or will you dive headfirst into that hole…, for once this world looks decent.”

Hinata looked down at the swirling eddies created by the hole opened in the river of time. The little beads clinked, sending iridescent waves of colour shimmering across the surface. If he looked past the holes opening and closing, the strings with their beads – he saw the distance stars, supernovas and blackholes – growing, expanding, shrinking. He didn’t know how the universe worked, only marvelled at how beautiful it was. He hummed low, then stopped as the hole began to shrink.

“Is this hole close to the immortal?”

Kenma gave a dry laugh, which echoed into the void of the Time Stop. Hinata felt the shock of hair on his head move forward slightly, and he felt a pressure on his shoulder. A hand most likely, one that hadn’t been bothered to materialize.

“Yes. Though my sight with this world is limited. The guardian of its river doesn’t like me much, though it’s owner does.”

“Then I will see you when I do.”

“And I, you.”

Hinata neither turned to watch the stardust move then settled, nor lift his hand in a parting wave. The divine being had seen it all, and a goodbye was as necessary to their interaction as time was, unspoken but there nonetheless. The man, the Traveller (as he is known to the other beings that exist beyond our scope of knowledge, understanding, and time), lifted his feet from the ground and jumped, soundlessly, falling through the hole.

~

If a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound? Kageyama could conclusively say it did. He’d been researching since his last encounter with the time traveller, who had had a twinkle in his eye having just come from a far-flung philosopher’s cave, posing it as a question over Rooibos tea and coconut crab. As time trickled by, and the landscape around him changed, there had been little else to fill his time – as he grew apathetic to civilisation. All he could do was wait for the next hole in time to open and for the traveller to fall through – he wasn’t sure how it worked, but it did and that was all the mattered, wait until the next encounter.

He could feel the seasons changing, and the people around him grew old. The trees which he’d planted on this deserted hillside eighty years ago were tall, strong and groaning as new life sprung from the cracks in their numbers. The mortal townsfolk were growing suspicious of him – his friends were dying, there was murmurings of witchery, and Kageyama knew that it was time to move on. Everyone knew that rural India was still set deep in it’s ways – and there was no chance of slipping away to ‘haunt’ a place, he was bound to be seen. And there was no way he wanted to fake a sacrificing again. It was time to move further east.

Where would he settle? What would he do? He had little in the way of worldly possessions – the ones he had were kept in museums across the globe, ancient artifacts which he would often stop to see, wondering if it was wrong to steal back his old set of porcelain dishes from the National Museum of China. The world was his possession, and everything was fleeting, as he’d learnt quickly after his second wife died, what a millennia ago? It didn’t matter anymore. There was not even a pang in his heart.

All that mattered was the food.

Which culture had he not tapped into for a while? Which had he not accidentally had his face painted in records era’s before? He stared at his map on the wall of his drawing room, sat on the plush sofa he’d bought one hundred years ago. And he threw a dart, and then another when the first landed in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. And then another when the second landed in the Atlantic. But the third – lucky number three, he believed – landed on land. He would go to Japan.

With one suitcase in hand, he left. The house was sold, the well-worn wood moulded to his touch and his tastes sold on to be marred by mortal fingers. He doubted he’d see it again. It would most likely burn down or be demolished in a few years. Oh well. With money in hand, and shoes on foot, a few moments later he landed in Japan. Moments here referring to the way he viewed the few human days spent in transit – as for us, readers and onlookers of these events, we know for certain that these men are not human, and that time works differently for them.

In truth, he always struggled moving on. He hated watching the time slip by – for even if he wasn’t directly affected, he was still hit by the aftershocks – he hated having to start afresh every forty mortal years or so, merely moments for him, when the people he lived around grew wary and meddlesome.

But still he packed up, moved on, bought a house near a little school in rural Japan and applied at it to teach history. His apathetic nature – sorry, more like his apathetic phase – was waning, and his need for money (the external coercion I mentioned before) overcame his want of disconnect.

Now, if only the time traveller would show up. After all, he was a few moments (in this case months) late. Though Kageyama shouldn’t have been surprised. This was the usual. As it had been for the last eon or so. Always a little late, as if time rubbed him the wrong way – no, as if he had all the time on Earth.


	2. Two; the number of times Hinata's fallen headfirst out of a hole in time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They meet! Properly this time as well. Also Oikawa.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey fellas, thanks for sticking through the first chapter and joining the soon to be WILD bandwagon. New chapter because I'm procrastinating my other fics :)

Kageyama stepped down the halls of the school quietly. Once upon a time he might’ve attended a school like this – though his memories were well worn and patchy. He couldn’t remember a time when he wasn’t like this, immortal, that is. If he ever had mortal days, where the immediacies of night and day mattered in the way that people knew death was around the corner, well, he couldn’t remember them. Nor did he wish to remember them

It was early, and the kids had yet to show. It was tough to get his body back into the ‘normalcies’ of ‘life’, the mundanity of waking up every time the sun rose, sleeping every time it hurried away. He’d been living drenched in apathy for quite a while now, sleeping when he felt like it – for the mortal’s months on end – and waking only when he could feel the tremors of his stomach begging for sustenance. But that being said, it was nice to now emerge from his cocoon, in time to stand by the large windows at the end of the hall and watch the cherry blossoms fall. He’d yet to allow the irony of death escape him – the irony of the beauty mortals put to it. To him, it was merely another unobtainable feat to observe – like little fish in the river of time, prizes he’d never win.

“Oop. This is a first, I don’t believe anyone’s ever gotten here before I have.” A voice, high, light and in Kageyama’s eon-old opinion, oddly familiar rang down the hall in tinkling chimes.

The immortal turned, slowly – for he had no fear, nor curiosity. For who could kill he, someone discarded by time? Who could interest he, if the man who spoke wasn’t the traveller he’d been waiting upon? Turned to see a man whose smile shone a bit too brightly; whose hair was a little too fluffy for its gelled nature, making his way steadily towards him.

“I beg your pardon, who may you be?” His social skills were rusty, having talked for the first time in twenty decades to the principal only a few moments ago (For us it would be four days, a span of time from what we call Thursday to Monday). The words therefore sounded odd on his tongue. Rolled off it as if his tongue were a landslide.

“Tooru Oikawa. I teach mathematics here. Guessing from your lacklustre dress, you’re not a guest. What have you come for this early in the morning? Can I help you with anything, sir?”

Kageyama noted an edge of aggression in the voice behind the polite smile he was being sent. This mortal was the scheming type he noted distastefully. Their lives were short, why didn’t they find it in themselves to be more honest? Or at least, dream big with their scheming – they didn’t live long enough to have the consequences truly haunt them. His mind wandered to the orange-haired traveller who was late, and then wandered steadily back to the man in front of him, patiently waiting for an answer.

“I’m the new teacher for history.” The way he formed sentences was odd, and he hastened to rectify it. There was no need to arouse suspicion this early on in his tenancy here – it would be a bother to move again, “My name’s Tobio Kageyama.”

He cursed the way he defaulted to his birth name – having used it too many times recently (recently here meaning; in the past millennium), but suspicions were neither seeded nor sprouted from it. The mortal took it as easily as one would the offer of free cake, his polite smiles morphing into a genuine grin, “Ah well, good luck then. I’ve heard the class you’ll be taking care of is a bit rowdy. I know a few of them... _personally_... so just be careful.”

Kageyama cocked an eyebrow at the man, Oikawa – not even bothering to guess his insinuations of the stressed syllables he spoke. Everything felt off about this conversation, and even though his vigour to return to ‘life’ was returning, he didn’t feel up to engaging with a man whose grin ate shit, and whose eyes sparkled with mischief.

“Well then Oikawa, it was pleasant meeting you. I –“ He stopped and stared outside the window.

A bright light was shining, but it was neither overpowering nor overwhelming. Instead, it drew Kageyama’s eyes, and his feet as he stepped over to stand, nearly flush against the window. He had seen it many times before – caught the end of it, caught the beginning and then had rushed to see the rest. But even so, even though he knew its patterns – it still drew his eyes, the only thing that constantly entertained him even through his lack of time. The immortal ignored the way the other man also stood at the window staring. It was dangerous for the traveller to be found in such a compromising situation – but holes in times followed him constantly, so his orange haired companion never worried about capture, or stirring worries. And besides, who wouldn’t want to watch this feat of nature?

The hole, had opened first and the light shone through and then soft tendrils – of smoke, if smoke was solid – iridescent ropes of knotted colour, pure colour – sunk through it, as if it were a sinkhole instead of a rip in the space-time continuum. And then the body fell, headfirst, mop of orange hair floating, unaffected by gravity, though Kageyama knew, even when the traveller’s feet hit the ground his would remain in that effortless position. And the tendrils caught it and cushioned it, and spun the body in the air, until he was hovering a metre off the ground, smiling widely and seemed to be breathing sighs of relief. The ropes of colour set him down like a china doll on a shelf somewhere secret, gently – and then slowly retracted in the hole. The man lifted his chin and waved and the tendrils wiggled back – though Kageyama was sure he only imagined it, for who could befriend the very lines of time? And then the light disappeared and the sun deemed itself worthy to shine again, and the light of the day returned, though no one had noticed its absence.

And then Kageyama was racing off down the corridors to greet his long time friend, and the mortal was following him, but in his eons of memory and his apathetic nature, he really didn’t care.

When he reached the courtyards of the school, he greeted his friend with a smile and his friend grinned back. And for the first time since seeing him, both the men – Kageyama and Oikawa – took in what the traveller was wearing.

It was a simple outfit, but at the same time – for Kageyama’s eyes who had adjusted to this time period, a bit of a shock, and for Oikawa’s eyes who, Kageyama noted out of the corner of his own, obviously more of shock. The mortal men immediately covered his face with his hands. The traveller wore no top, his nipples bright and perky against tanned skin in the morning light, and the only cloth he wore was a short white kilt, wrapped in some elaborate fashion. Barefoot. Under his eyes was applied thick eye makeup – flicking up as his eye did. When he blinked Kageyama noted it was applied above as well.

“Long time no see Kageyama.” The traveller smiled at him then noticed the mortal man and frowned, “Who are you?”

Oikawa was relieved that at least this weirdo spoke normally, “I think I should be asking you the same question short stack.”

The traveller quirked an eyebrow, his mouth popping into an ‘o’. His eyes roamed Oikawa’s face and the man shifted slightly. Not even bringing to attention the fact that he had just dropped from the sky, Oikawa couldn’t help but feel that there was way more to the story of this man. That this… whatever he was… was extremely dangerous.

Kageyama didn’t like the interaction that was going on, but he couldn’t do anything about. He just stood there, taking in his friend – and the fact that his hair still didn’t lie flat on his head. He wanted to ask about Egypt – from where his friend just came from, presumably – wanted to ask about the class system and how it was and did he see anyone that he knew, back in the day, because Ramses made his immortality fun and he’d had a great time partying every night and enjoying their tasteful Egyptian delicacies. But he held his tongue. Because this mortal couldn’t be pulled into their conversations – because it had happened before, and it meant a hasty departure back into the void of time for Hinata and a move to the other side of the world for Kageyama. Though the small island he’d retreated to had been nice.

“Well, I don’t know what just happened.” Oikawa spoke, trying to keep his voice measured, but the tension was apparent and so was the shock, “But the students will soon arrive and we can’t have them discovering–“ He gestured to the whole of the kilt-clad man “–all of _this_.”

He was taking it better than both the immortal and the time traveller though he would, which was suspicious. Kageyama stepped closer to Hinata, “What are you insinuating, Oikawa?”

The mortal sighed, “The nurse’s office has spare sets of clothes in it. He can change out of his… clothes and do something about that stuff around his eyes. We don’t have much time until –“

Hinata laughed. And after a few seconds of looking incredulously at Oikawa, Kageyama began to laugh as well.

“What...?” Oikawa started, confused, but the two waved him off and gestured for him to show them the way to the nurse’s office. Eyebrows crumpling together defensively, he did just that, making sure to walk a few steps ahead of them, but not entirely out of earshot. He was not a moron after all – curiosity getting the better of the little innate politeness he held.

The two behind as soon as their feet were moving, as soon as they reached the shelter of the building tapping down the corridors, they began to talk. They had few inhibitions, the ones they used to hold worn throughout the eras.

“Ancient Egypt?” Kageyama asked pointedly and the orange-haired traveller laughed joyously, as if he had no care in the world – or every care there was to have.

“Of course. I saw you and Ramses from afar but I don’t think you saw me. Have I appeared in your memories?”

The raven-haired immortal shook his head, “No.”

“See? Besides, there was no way I could’ve approached you guys – I fell in front of a farmer’s house. He was kind enough to invite me in. Slave labour and the like…” Kageyama tensed but relaxed when he saw the travellers bright smile. If anyone, he’d know the most about the traveller’s inexhaustible stamina, “But it was fun and I made a great many friends. And the food, though bland – still when you work in the desert all day, tastes like a feast. To be honest, I’d missed that hard honest labour after that fiasco with English royalty.”

“Really?” The immortal asked surprised, his odd formality that he’d held with Oikawa dropped now he was in comfortable conversation, “I thought The War of the Roses was quite interesting.”

“Of course, you would Mr _since-all-the-soldiers-were-gone-I-could-sneak-into-the-castle-and-drink-all-the-good-wine_. Do you know how many times I had to fake my death on the battlefield? At least seven.”

“You became quite adept at it.” The immortal sent him a shit-eating grin, one that mirrored the mortals one of earlier, “And it was their milk, not wine. Had I stolen wine; I would have been burned alive. And it’s much harder to fake a death when you’ve got a crowd.”

Hinata received a flick to the forehead as he continued, “I don’t get cute little loopholes.”

The traveller tilted his head and countered deftly, “At least you can’t die. I actually have to avoid attempts at my life.”

“True.”

They walked on for a while longer, talking in louder voices, worries and pains of lack of age forgotten. It wasn’t long before Oikawa stopped – for two reasons. One, they’d arrived and he’d come to locked door whose key he was struggling to find and two, he felt like his head was about to split open. It wasn’t everyday he heard two people as insane as this, talking as if they’d lived in Ancient Egypt during the time of Ramses I, as if they’d fought The War of the Roses, as if they’d survived the Salem Witch Trials (I would presume that was their current topic of conversation).

The door opened and he led them inside, letting them pass and then closing the doors behind them. It was only when he flicked the lights on when he realised how youthful their appearances were.

The orange haired, he presumed, human looked little more than a boy, stuck in the later stages of puberty, or perhaps very early twenties. And his positive, inquisitive face did nothing to help that fact. His eyes glittered slightly, reflecting something that Oikawa couldn’t see – and in that reflection he could see purple, blues and greens, lines of something. And then the man blinked and they disappeared. And then he smiled again and Oikawa was sure he could pass for a student.

“You might be able to pass for a student if you choose the right uniform. If you have nothing else to do, it might be best to stay here for the day while you decide what to do.” He wasn’t a teacher for nothing. This confidence he’d once been mocked for by his classmates, came in handy when faced with unexpected situations – the only explanation he could think of as to why he wasn’t shitting his pants.

The dark-haired man, tall but not as tall as he, also looked disastrously young. If Oikawa had to liken it to anything, he would say the man was stuck in his early twenties. Of course, he knew to be ‘stuck’ at an age wasn’t possible, though he wouldn’t know how accurate he was. Not until much later (At this moment, we can safely say that Oikawa is bit dense). Yet, despite his youthful appearance, the man’s cold dark blue eyes spoke of wisdom well beyond his years (Yes, this term is illy used here, what Oikawa should say is that Kageyama had eyes that reflected his true age, but we must forgive him, for he doesn’t know – again, not yet).

“Thank you…” The orange-haired man started than trailed off at the realisation that he had yet to know, or ask for the brunette’s name.

“Oikawa Tooru.” The man offered his name for the second time that early morning.

“Thank you, Oikawa, for helping us in would’ve become quite a sticky situation.” He stopped, smiled and then chuckled, “And excuse me for my rudeness, I forgot to introduce myself. I call myself Hinata Shoyou, though I get other names. Some forced upon me quite abruptly.”

The man quirked an eyebrow and Oikawa coughed as he remembered the nickname he’d ‘forced upon’ Hinata ‘quite abruptly’, “My apologies, _short stack_.”

Hinata laughed, “I like you, _Grand King_. Someone may have to get you off your high horse though.”

Kageyama coughed to cover his laugh at the jab, the immortal constantly impressed by how quick and sharp the traveller’s tongue could be. He glanced at Oikawa wondering how he’d take it, and Hinata merely turned his back to scavenge for some clean uniforms to change into. The other man stood somewhat stunned, but quickly regained his confidence – as Kageyama thought, all mortals should, their lives were too short to stay in shock – and smirked, “Would treating you two to drinks tonight be enough? Huh, _short stack_?”

“Sure.”

The moment passed, but it would stay in the travellers and the immortal’s memory. Hinata quickly changed, and managed to pass through the morning without any catastrophes. He simply stayed in the back of Kageyama’s classroom, dissuading any attempts at conversation by staring out of the window during class and sleeping during break. It wasn’t hard to fall asleep, after all, travelling between dimensions – even if he had rested at The Time Stop, still used up some of his impressive stamina, draining him. And it was nice as well, listening to Kageyama teach.

For the dark-haired man, teaching the content was easy. It was sticking to the content that was hard. So many inaccuracies were present, even the names of events were botched. He had half a mind to just go on wild tangents about his adventures, but every time he was about to get riled up he’d catch the glint in Hinata’s eye and would attempt to calm himself down. He would save the tangents for another day, one where the story matter didn’t involve time travellers and the questionable appearance of divinity.

And for Oikawa, whose mind hadn’t stopped hurting since their interaction that morning, struggled to stay focused on his teachings, failing to notice students raised hands and failing to collect homework, more than once. For the classes of the usually strict professor it was relief and a concern, but no one paid attention to his paleness, nor increased skittishness. They just revelled in the lack of attention he paid them.

Time passed, as it always did, as it meant too. For the kids, it was another day gone from the mantra of ‘ _get through this week_ _’_ (though, I think that is more for the senior students who had their final exams – I’m sure you readers will understand), another day gone. It was a momentous thing, as it was each day – they had freedom, they had time to go do what they wanted to do – be it study, hang out in town, party or engage in questionable hobbies. For the adults, they didn’t care as much – but the event of going home was appreciated, another day to add to the growing pile of time behind them. Yet, the day felt naught like a second to the immortal, not even a breath of wind contained in the breeze and for the time traveller, not even a ripple in the waves of time he had spent so long observing and playing with.

Hinata laughed when the bell rang, and when the classroom had emptied of everyone except him and Kageyama, made a show of gathering up his non-existent books and pulled a stressed face.

“Oh no, poor me! I have so much to do and so little time!” He giggled in a falsified voice, then dropped to his normal mellow tones, “Are we –“

The door slid open with a bang, and the man, the mortal, from that morning greeted them with another shit-eating grin, “Drinks men?”

A grin that showed his full set of teeth and impressively – suspiciously – large set of canines.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo, 
> 
> Drop a comment on your favourite part and anything wack you want to see. This is complete and utter fantasy nonsense, so I will take anything. Crack fic honestly – there is definitely something in the water I'm drinking. If there's anything that's confusing you, it's probably confusing me too – but I'll try and straighten it out in the comments if you wanna discuss. Also crazy theories are 100% accepted and okay – conjecture is welcome. 
> 
> Though, for future reference, this fic is NOT a priority of mine, so will probably kick the back-burner as soon as anything hefty swings round the bend in my life. BUT I will try and keep this up in the air for as long as possible. May have to wait a while between updates tho (Omg I use so many idioms, for the people who don't have English as their native language, I am so sorry).
> 
> Ahh anyway, hope y'all enjoyed,  
> Lots of love,  
> Lou


	3. Three, Oikawa’s preferred time of awakening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DRINKS – Oikawa reveals who he is. Even I wasn't prepared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back with another chapter of this crack fic. Again procrastinating my other fics (and schoolwork lmao) – but like, to hell with them all – I'm just here for this CHAOS (and I hope you are to – it's only gonna get wilder from here on in)
> 
> hehe

“So…” In the hazy low lights of the bar, the three men sat comfortably over sake, Oikawa’s fingers caressing the glass in front of him lazily, “Would it be rude of me to inquire about what happened this morning?”

Hinata grinned, face flushed slightly. The alcohol percentage in his blood didn’t bother him, he could hold it well and keep it high while maintaining a normal state of mind. In the corners of his gaze he could see more holes pulsing, the dimension lazily opening and closing, as if it were a cat yawning in the early morning light. His mind flicked back to three events ago (I would assume, based off my knowledge that he was thinking to his last trip to India in the early 1700’s), remembering the big striped cats among the mangrove forests. It then flicked lazily forwards again as he was snagged on the other man’s overt stare. Time continued to shudder forwards, but it seemed to stop at their table – a train to never leave the station.

“Yes, it would be rude.” He finally said, lifting his glass to his lips. The immortal beside him smiled, and he could _feel_ it in the air around him.

“Well then, let me be rude. What was that show of lights this morning?”

The hole beside Hinata pulsed brighter and he felt a curse rest on the tip of his tongue – if it shifted any closer to him it would become visible to his drinking mates, any closer and the smoky tendrils of time that wrapped and held him so gently would snake out to greet him, pull him back out of this moment. He sighed, knowing he could just make a run for it if he wanted to, but not wanting to upset Kageyama’s obviously new life.

The immortal looked as uncomfortable in reality as Hinata had always felt. He must’ve just moved from an apathetic isolation. The traveller wanted to stay a bit longer before having to bail. Wouldn’t it be fun to mess with this mortal? He glanced at his dark haired friend, his face as impassive as always, frowning down at his drink. Ah, maybe this wasn’t the best time then.

“Think of it as something of a stunt.” The traveller waved the question off, laughing lightly – carefree, “Light show, holographic film making, demon summoning, a failure at Novitcha Tech.”

The mortal’s eyebrows pinched. _Wester Tech?_ _Demon summoning?_ (Novitcha Tech is referring to a future invention of Hinata’s half-friend 100 years on from our present day, mind muddled as it is, it is safe to assume Hinata has forgotten that it hasn’t exactly been invented yet) But there was something more unsettling to the picture, “Aren’t you a little too young to be working as a stunt man, Hinata?”

He flashed the orange-haired traveller an unsettling smile, one that set his canines peaking over his red lips, a smile that lit his face up a bit too much to be brushed off by the lighting. His eyes sparkled – even though there was nothing to reflect. For a moment, the mortal looked anything but his title, looking for just a second, just a drop in the waters of time, unearthly, permanent, as if time held his hand rather than leashed his neck.

Hinata noted this. As did Kageyama, eyes used to observing time from afar, the effects of it apparent through the cycles of life. He’d experienced too much weathering to not fully grasp the understanding of mortality. Wasn’t that his life now? A scientist doing what none could, an eon long experience with humanity as the test subject, “Should you be asking that as we drink? Truly I tell you, if he is too young to be working, he is too you to drink.”

The immortal odd tones struck a chord within Oikawa, though he dared not show it, only letting it manifest in the darting of his tongue across his lips. Savoured the drops of sake that had caught, and moistening his lips in hunger – hunger for knowledge that lit his eyes. Mischief overpowering, “I’m curious. How old are you really?”

“I.. uh…” Hinata swallowed, stumped. Frantically his mind whirred for an answer, skipping between them like his jumps through the eras, trying fervently to remember the age he had first fell into the timeless state. But that had been so long ago, and his memory had no choice but to erode slightly. And no one had even asked him this question before, not with the piercing gaze of brown eyes that bordered on shades of red, not with the _knowing_ smirk that graced blood red lips.

The hesitation was all Oikawa needed and he tipped his glass back, sculled the rest of it and then laughed, “You can’t even remember your age, can you? Are you sure you’re mortal?”The ease with which it rolled from his tongue was odd for someone who should’ve been afraid of death, who should’ve been shackled by it’s inevitability.

“Aren’t you?” Kageyama asked, lifting his head. His eyes spoke of wisdom built upon eras of experience.

“That’s an odd comment to make Kageyama-san, shouldn’t you be more concerned about your friend’s apparent amnesia?”

“Aren’t you mortal?” The immortal merely reiterated, emphasising the last word with a glare, closing his hand into a fist on the table. Hinata broke from his thoughts to glance at him, having not seen Kageyama this expressive in front of somebody in a long time (Please note that this last phrase is merely used for peace of mind for you readers, Hinata is really thinking about ‘moments’, but I fear that would merely confuse our mortal minds). He turned to face the apparent mortal who was grinning.

“Only as much as I want to be.” Cryptically, and curiously. 

This was the first time someone else had hinted at being left out by time. Hinata laughed, “In truth Oikawa- _kun_.” An emphasis on the younger form of the honorific, “I honestly can’t remember. And I have no way of measuring it either.”

Oikawa tilted his head slightly – this form of timelessness was not the one he was experienced to and he was overtaken with an urge to know. Sure, he and Kageyama had work tomorrow – but tomorrow looked as if it didn’t exist within their vocabulary, the orange-haired traveller looking comfortable with the quiet ticking of the clock in the background, and the immortal not taking note of the very thing he’d been discarded by. He waved his hand to a weary looking waiter, who glared at him as he walked over.

“What can I do for you, _Oikawa-senpai?_ _”_ The waiter hissed; teeth gritted. In the low light that framed the table he looked younger than first appeared, at the same time decades older (though Hinata and Kageyama merely pinned him as weary, having seen too many mortals to be truly invested nor curious of the man).

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa rolled his eyes, reaching out and clasping the young man’s hands. The two opposite again, took notice, now absorbed in their sake – comparing it to the fine wine they’d had a few moments (centuries, they mean our centuries) ago. Fine wine from France, aged in the province of what is currently known as Burgundy, “Another round please? I think we’re going to be here for quite a while.”

He winked and the young man rolled his eyes, “You’ll have to pay up this time old man, the amount you give is not enough.”

If anyone noticed the odd wording, they didn’t mention it. Oikawa grinned and removed his hands from the waiters to clap, “Of course! I’ll even give some to you…” He licked his lips and his eyes scoured the shape of the man that stood in front of him, “…specially.”

The waiter nodded, his held notepad moving to cover his crotch – one of pure coincidence (I apologise for the wording here, the Creator deemed I scribe everything. And when I say everything, I mean everything. I apologise for the blatant writing on these scrolls – but I cannot go against my Maker), and frowned at Oikawa, “If you do that again I’m suing you for sexual harassment.”

But the smile that dug against the frown did little to back up his claim as he spun towards the bar. Oikawa watched his hips swing as he walked and turned back to his drinking mates, now discussing something softly again. Not bothering to join their conversation on cheeses of someplace foreign, he stuck a metaphorical knife in their words and tore down the conversation with a simple question, “So what about you Kageyama? Are you also amnesiac like your... friend?”

Not sure how to classify the traveller, he skated over the word friend, only just catching the raised eyebrow from the traveller.

The immortal shrugged, a bored look on his face, “No, I’m not amnesiac. I cannot disclose my age, purely because we’d be here for a full rotation. I’ve been alive since I can remember.”

“No shit.” Oikawa drawled.

“Eras? Eons? Tens of thousands of moments. Millions. Billions perhaps.” Kageyama smiled in age-old nostalgia. A lot had accumulated over the years, as he smile back on fond memories. There was no sting of pain for the most recent, but his earliest – he could barely make out his 1000-year-old birthday, for yes, he had counted in those days when he still thought he could die – his earliest memories of the first few thousand years were still tender with sad melancholy. His learning stage. Before he’d learned to apply his apathetic mask and distract himself from reality. Before his traveller had shown up one evening covered in his own blood, red waterfall gushing in horrific gurgles from his stomach. His smile dropped back to a frown.

“Wow, you really are an old bastard.” He was surprised, but none too much. Oikawa should’ve expected that much from the tired eyes and staggered, broken way of speaking – as if the man hadn’t spoken in, as he just said, tens of thousands of years. Formal, Antiquated. Most of all, uncaring of the societal rules. He watched the immortal give a dry huff, akin to a laugh. The traveller smiled into his drink – a fresh glass set down by the scowling waiter – knowing the the immortal had just laughed, and relished in his friend’s amusement.

“So how old are you Oikawa-kun?” Hinata queried, feeling the odd need to reciprocate. To make a new friend in an moment in time he’d never been to before. He was curious about the man who shone too bright for the ambient light, whose grin seemed too big for his fine features, canines white and suspiciously long, suspiciously sharp, “Are you by any chance an anomaly?”

“I’ve been called many things _chibi-chan,_ but never that.” A laugh, short and sweet. A few tables away the waiter who was serving a couple faltered, spilling expensive liquor down a woman’s shirt. Yelling erupted, but Hinata’s gaze remained on the bright eyes of the maybe mortal, “And I suppose I may be an anomaly, if you count living for 355 years.”

“Oh.” Hinata’s mouth mirrored the sound and Kageyama’s brow furrowed as he struggled to remember what years were (any aspect of humanity that wasn’t necessary for him, be it their silly constructs of time or their greed to collect material possession which they should know would decay beyond the grave he had discarded, appreciating only architecture and food), “So, sorry for my brazenness, what type of anomaly are you?”

Hinata fidgeted with his glass slightly, and Kageyama caught sight of it. Frowned. Given his uncanny ability to adapt and grow in uncertain situations, see the traveller nervous was a rare sight. Perhaps the lack of time had smothered it well. He knew the abundance of time had smothered his greed. Now all the immortal knew was that if anything was meant to be, it would be. And if he didn’t deserve liberation, he wouldn’t receive it. He topped up the traveller’s glass in well-worn gesture of validation, of saying _I_ _’m here, always here, trust in me and in yourself_.

Oikawa stared into the traveller’s eyes, the soft greens and purples, lavenders and sages, reflected there in them. He wondered what the man could see that he couldn’t. It was unsettling, the way the traveller suddenly stilled and eyes suddenly focused on a place that wasn’t before, nor behind him. And then the traveller shook his head slightly and turned back to face the 335-year-old not mortal (at this point in the time, internal tech had only developed so far for bone and muscle rehabilitation and restoration, so while some of you now reading this may be well over 500, the lifespan of the time was averaging 90 to those not blessed or possessed), a slight smile on his face.

“So…?” The traveller prompted, resting head on hands. Coming under the harsh light that lit the table, Kageyama noticed the faint smudge of black underneath his eye. Oikawa’s eyes also plucked it from his features with ease. A lingering relic. Out of place.

“Ah, well, it’s a bit of a story. So if you have the…” He stopped and chuckled, looked down at his glass and then back up through thick eyelashes, “No... of course you’d have the time.”

There was a pause (for us mortals it would’ve seemed like an eternity with the tension and trepid apprehension, the anticipation) – that took merely a breath and then the same waiter that had served them before stomped over and slammed another round of drinks on the table. His young cheeks were flushed, but it didn’t hide the grey in his skin, “Just tell them Oikawa-senpai, it’s nearly time for donations.”

Oikawa blinked slowly at the intrusion and slowly tiled his head to meet the waiter’s heated glaring gaze, “What funny phrasing Iwa-chan. I thought I taught you better, though I must admit, I’m struggling to find the words.” He turned to meet Kageyama’s quiet, still apathetic gaze, and then Hinata’s exponentially more eager. Chuckled quietly.

“Don’t wrap your words.” The immortal’s voice was low, words dripping in antiquity and authority. Hinata nodded, “We’ve seen eons of rotations – just say it straight.”

“ _Mother_.” Iwa whispered, laying a hand on Oikawa’s shoulder, “It’s nearly –“

“I’m the Vampire Mother. That’s my anomaly. Humanity’s belief constructed me. And I constructed my brethren. As long as the belief is there, I can’t die.”

“Kageyama.” Hinata whispered, eyes suddenly moistening, despite his ageless state, his disconnected mind. His voice cracked, “We’re not alone. We’re not the only immortals.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sexy beast – I wonder how he 'constructed' his brethren? Lmao. Also Iwa calls him Mother, and I'm not sure how I feel about that (I'm the author what am I saying) – spur of the moment decision, and now it's doing funky stuff to my brain. Hinata's amazing and Kags is (honestly?) probably slightly depressed, or at least extremely disconnected from everything. 
> 
> Drop a comment of your favourite part and anything you wanna see happen on the ~Vampire Mother ~ front. (I was gonna go with Mother Vampire – but Vampire Mother just had a nicer ring to it lol).
> 
> Lots of love,  
> Lou


	4. Four, the amount of beer glasses Iwaizumi can carry in one hand at a time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Insight into the Narrator and some straight facts from Kageyama

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm having too much fun with this. Lolol.

**_Somewhere beyond The Traveller_ ** **_’s Time Stop in a pocket of everything and nothing:_ **

Anomaly. I have to regard my dictionary for this one. The old book is fat and full of words I know the mortals of Earth would never use. But there are synonyms for the words they can’t pronounce, cannot write. I scribe as best I can.

Unlike Earth-born folklore – because mortals reside in more places than Earth – I do not call the alternate dimension of which I dwell a ‘dungeon’, nor really an alternate dimension. They misuse the words they’ve developed as well. For is an alternate dimension really that accurate? I lift my hands from the keys of where I type, the stamp hovering above the scroll wet with ink, and review the common words I’ve listed for use. They are all different ways of explaining time. It seems the Earth-born don’t view it as other World-born do. It is not sacred to them; it is not a tool to be wielded with care and calculation. It is merely a given – I sigh, and rest my hands back on the keys. I am too biased. _He_ should have given the job to another mortal to rest his hands on the perpetual story that’s unfolding and refolding – constantly. I am too slow, too opinionated – but I am his favourite. It is a blessing, and a bane.

_He_ watches me, constantly. I know that. I feel his gaze on my back, even as his eyes remain on the screen _He_ watches, stars shifting in and out of focus. No mortal language can describe his incandescent glory, how his presence fills the room with subliminal if not holy power. Suffocating in the best way possible. The screen _He_ watches is the same one that I watch – and we watch with care.

The void we stare at is filled with clusters of nebulas and smoke and infinite blackness that swallows all light. Soft beads of time, droplets and strings of the river weave through it all, a piece of yarn infinitely searching, infinitely wound. It’s not just any time though, it is the time _He_ has gifted the world it winds around within the Nebula, exclusive. Never ending. Even if the world is discarded, the flow of time cut off – what has been wound will unravel and ravel in painful looping as the blessings fade.

I continue to scribe the best I can, fingers the only sound aside from the humming that comes from _His_ chair. _His_ murmurs like the deep red wines and honey liquor, like the deep dark silver of his hair – enchanting.

I watch the ropes of time open, and _He_ leans forward, hands reaching through the rope as if it were never there. And then they grip it, the ropes solidify. His hands clasp it greedily. Bend it. Twist it, rip it open until we can see what _He_ wants to see, called me to see and to record without questions.

The Traveller. The Immortal.

The treasured and the cursed. The now loved and the once loved. His only loves. The Creator creates all without favour, but is not a perfect being. His vices become more apparent to me with each volume I fill, each with different adventures, every one different in their own way – though some, the majority, similar.

With deft hands and blunt words, I chip history down, short sentences, dot points, easy to digest. The Creator does not remember all, though _He_ knows all, and _He_ likes the way I write. In lengthened prose of flowery nature, I carve achievements, the paradigm shifts of the world – _He_ finds those fascinating, so I indulge. But, the largest task of all, one that never fails nor falters is the task of recording the living poetry _He_ relishes in, finds comfort in. The poetry I scribe onto screens – the poetry of men whom he pulled from time.

_He_ tells me that even Creators need consistency. But even though I don’t respond, maintain my impassive subservience, my thoughts are my own – and I can’t help but think that _He_ ’s showing favour. That _He_ has grown attached.

My thoughts are my own, but my life is not – so I continue to scribe the best I can, writing these hidden journals away from his all-seeing eyes and instead finding solace in his forgetfulness.

I turn back to my dictionary and my notepad.

_Anomaly: A being that has either been forfeited, or exempted through unforeseen circumstances, from the rules that govern the Created World. This title is only given to those that are exempted within the world, unaided by divinity. Given divine intervention the title is maintained with the prefix of_ _‘blessed_ _’. To see those able to cross time see term_ _‘Traveller_ _’._

_•_ ••

“Where are you leading us?” Hinata asked, bouncing on the balls of his feet. In his hands he clasped a cheap bag filled with cheaper foods from the convenience store, an _onigiri_ already resting in his rumbling stomach. Kageyama looked amused at his hunger, sucking on the straw of his milk.

The Vampire Mother was taking them somewhere. Where? Neither the immortal nor traveller knew nor cared. As it had been when the sun was still up – their apathy towards potential danger had been dulled, Hinata’s escape routes shining in the corners of his vision, avoided in the cracks of the sidewalk and Kageyama’s in the immortality of his everything.

It was late in the rotation (A rotation was the only measurement of time passing that they were accepted to acknowledge, akin to a day of our time), and they walked as the sky paled to a milky darkness. Hinata had become accustomed to the infinite nothingness of his Time Stop, and the changes in light of the Earth didn’t faze him – though the holes that broke open around him did. Oikawa skipped ahead of them too-wide grin on his face as he led them through the streets of waning abodes – lawns growing larger, hedges denser, gates embossed rather than broken. Iwa took his Mother’s side reluctantly, feet dragging slightly, catching every now and then on the hitches in the sidewalk.

The Vampire Mother leaned into the young man and whispered, with a flick of his tongue (which I will make note of that unlike the images that many of you hold, is forked – akin to a snakes) on his neck, “I’ll feed you soon. Don’t fret son. Mother will feed you.”

Hinata batted an eyelid and turned to Kageyama, having heard Oikawa and curious – “Have you heard any lore of the vampire before? I wasn’t aware make-beliefs could realise something.”

“I haven’t indulged in reality for a while – I wasn’t aware either. Maybe it’s a rule of the world.” Kageyama inclined his head gently towards the vampire, “Strength of a belief can realise anything. I’ve seen it before. It’s hard not to. Empires rose because of a belief of a leader. Public belief has fell warriors, and those who govern know how to twist it for their gain. Remember Stalin?”

“Russia Stalin, that guy? I came so close to execution – how could I forget.”

“A lot of your adventures come close to execution Hinata.” Kageyama smiled at the traveller, who shrugged and made no move to dispute it. The immortal was warmed by their inside joke – if it was to be classified as one (I find myself appreciating this man’s humour more and more – his bluntness is admirable), “His propaganda department was the most funded after his military. The public’s undying belief made him powerful. If no one believed in you – wouldn’t you just cease to exist?”

“I’d feel like it.” A trailing sentence, a trailing memory – with the ups of time travel came the downs, with the highs of immortality came the inevitable lows. Kageyama nodded in shared understanding. Hinata sighed, “That’s a powerful statement you made Tobio. Are you going to record it?”

“There will come a time where I will say it again. My beliefs aren’t easily changed.”

“Oh?” Hinata looked from the odd pair in front of him to glance at his friend’s side profile, of which he’d memorised within their first hundred or so moments together. The plastic rustled gently at his side and reminded of the weight of food in his hands – much used to carrying portions across space and time, took the first thing he could find – _melon pan_ – he hadn’t had this in eons, “And what would you believe in?”

“Your lack of punctuality. And by proxy, you.” Immediate reply. Sharp tongue and a sharper truth which cut through Hinata’s layers of emotional protection. The travelled inhaled with the stabbing truth and then barked a laugh – the Vampire Mother and his son faltering in conversation – amused but only partially, the tone of the latter statement conveying his solemnity.

“I’m glad that I won’t cease then. But just to make sure, I too, will believe in you.” Hinata hoped his light tones didn’t betray his attempt at concealing his discomfort. It wasn’t as though talking to the immortal was bad – their conversations often landed on the whimsical, nonsensical, questioning everything they knew, and gossiping about things they didn’t – but he didn’t want to (for lack of a better phrase, I apologise) space out and spiral into his thoughts and theories right before entering a stranger’s house.

They had been walking for quite a while. Once able to see the milky darkness, now trunks and low hanging branches of trees obscured their vision, leaves fanning, framing the chunks of darkness and soft stars that they could see.

“Ah..” Oikawa breathed, smiling. He had a hand on his brethren’s back, holding the small of it like his hand was moulded to fit there. As he twisted to face the immortals – the other anomalies he was ecstatic to meet, his hand didn’t lift, “We’re here.”

Gate, large, black, with obvious Gothic influences, the large wrought iron slid apart with surprising ease, clicking into place. After being in Ancient Egypt for nearly the entirety of a mortal lifespan, Hinata’s mind had yet to lose the awe of seeing technology. The silver lining of this Age of External Technology wasn’t lost on him. His eyes shone as they entered, Oikawa beckoning to them.

“Don’t you have to ask to go in?” Kageyama blurted, remembering a book he had read to pass the time. That never changed. Books of fiction and of fact were constantly being created, even if some were disturbingly familiar and similar, the details were never the same. One of the only things he would acknowledge as fluid. One of the only things he allowed himself to appreciate.

Oikawa raised an eyebrow, three steps above them, approaching the ornate oak door. The house looked as if it were plucked from medieval Europe, and Hinata would’ve bet his experience in 20th century Cuba that it was modelled after the place the anomaly was born.

“I’ve heard of that myth. A few of my brethren do in the places where that belief is strong above all others. Where my grasp on them is slightly weaker. But none of those human myths of weaknesses apply to me.” The Vampire Mother grinned a caustic grin, eyes sparkling, “I am only mortal if I want to be. The only thing that changes me is me.”

Iwa-chan huffed a laugh, “You have an absurd amount of confidence, _Mother._ ”

“And you Iwa-chan are too negative for your own good. No, there’s no need for permission. But for hospitality’s sake,” He opened the door, the scent of a hot meal – of meat and something steamed, flooded their surrounds. Hinata’s stomach growled, “Do come in.”

They entered, uncaring of the potential danger they placed themselves in. Not caring of the fact that they barely knew this cunning, scheming man – no, vampire – and had no idea how he created his brethren, nor what the ‘donations’ meant, nor what ‘feeding’ meant. But it wasn’t as if they hadn’t been exposed to this situation before. Not the exact type – confirmed by the way Kageyama’s heart beat in his chest in anticipation, confirmed by Hinata’s eyes that devoured everything he could see, but similar at least.

They recalled a similar instance in the very early stages of humanity, taken in by a group of nomads – given dinner and a place to sleep despite the fact that they had wandered from the forest the nomads didn’t dare enter (Note to self; This event is recorded in Volume 17 of this moment, number will change if an event occurs before it in the timeline) (Note to other mortal readers; please excuse the previous note – that is for my benefit and the Creator’s, I apologise for the interruption). Kageyama recalled waking up with a spear buried deep in his stomach so deep he felt it tickling his spinal column, and the nomad’s eyes wide after realising he was still breathing, continuing to breathe deeply as blood flowed easily from the wound. Not dead. Not dying. The traveller was also awake at that time, the daggers he had kept by his side since the forest (they were souvenirs from his time as the second in command of a pirate ship in the mortal year of 1719 when he worked under Anne Bonny, from modern day Ireland), warding off any of the nomads that had tried to come near. Thankfully unharmed.

Kageyama shook his head from the memory as it flashed forward to the slain tribe, not wanting to remember the blood-soaked ground, nor the bonfire of bodies as they covered their tracks. Not wanting to be carried on as legends – the immortal who had pushed the spear from his body and willed the wound to shut. For his immortality was his to control, though death was never an option. He entered the house with careful, measured steps.

Hinata, too, shook his head from the memory and willed himself forward, carrying a bright grin that parried his darker thoughts. Though, he was too excited for what this adventure would bring to dwell on past experiences.

The four of them walked through the corridors and halls, the house seeming larger on the inside than the out, and any questions that could form, died on their lips as they walked from room to room. Each offering a different view, a capsule of a different decade. And when their host stopped, so did they, coming to halt in the one room that looked as timeless as they were. The only room that could ever achieve that. The kitchen.

Hinata’s bag of food went on the table. Kageyama’s hand went to tap the wooden counter. Iwa-chan went to the fridge to pull out two canned drinks and a blood red capsule. The two which he handed to the immortal and the traveller, the one which he quickly sunk now prominent fangs into. The Vampire Mother tsked at the brazen blood-suckling, but smiled nonetheless, “Don’t go drinking too much yet Iwa-chan. We still need to have dinner.”

Oikawa licked his lips, excited, eyes skating over the bodies of his guests. He couldn’t help but wonder how sweet their blood would taste

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okie dokie, 
> 
> Tossing up between detailing a past experience (ie. the Nomad's and what tf happened there) next chapter, and between continuing on with ~dinner~. Lemme know what y'all think about that. 
> 
> Also tf philosopher Kageyama? "If no one believed in you – wouldn't you just cease to exist?" hmmm. It's too early in the morning for me to re-process this shit. (wrote this chap at 11:30 last night, I hope you can tell tehehe). Mm, also lemme know what you think about the narrator. Y'all in a sweet surprise w the Creator and the Narrator – haha, their relationship, like the rest of this shit in the story, is weird. Lmao. 
> 
> Have fun with this fucking weird-ass chap on ur mind now,   
> Lots of love,   
> Lou


End file.
